


Translator

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 05:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5855401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to "Learning Curve." Daniel Jackson is a translator, and not just of languages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Translator

First published in _Redemption 2_ (2003)

 

Daniel Jackson, PhD in Archaeology and Ancient Languages, was a translator.

Of course, he did and was far more than that. Even with all the scientists the SGC had brought in, he was still the base expert on mythology and ancient cultures, often borrowed by other teams to give advice on a new find or theory. He knew more about the Goa'uld than anyone on the base except Teal’c, and was rapidly becoming the expert on alien cultures in general. The simple fact was, he loved to learn, particularly about ancient cultures and peoples, and any opportunity afforded him to do so he took with glee.

But in his heart, he was a translator.

Books had always been his best friends. Through years of being shuttled around between foster homes, the faces around him changing all the time, books had remained a safe constant. And they made a lot more sense. Those puzzles he could unravel, and always knew the rules for. People were far less predictable and logical. It hadn’t been difficult to steer clear of them and stick with his books. Even when Daniel’s theories were derided and rejected, the hard facts, the words and pictures he loved, were always there to go back to and find comfort in.

Language had been the bridge to Sha’re also, when they’d first met. His desire to communicate with her, to teach her the written language of her people, her willingness to learn despite her fear. He loved her before then, from her first shy attempts to communicate with him, but those quiet lessons had taught him far more than the pronunciation of a dead language. Translation had never seemed more alive than in those early days of learning about and from each other.

So much had changed since then. He’d given up the sands of his adopted home of Abydos for sterile quarters at the SGC, a life as a husband and scholar for one of scholar and soldier. And though his wife was lost to him at that moment, he had new loved ones, new family, to take the edge off his loneliness. His team in particular, SG-1, had grown close to the point of being like the siblings he’d always wanted and never truly had, and he relied on them and trusted them a great deal.

But sometimes, it still got to be too much. And fatigued, or worn, or discouraged, it was to his books Daniel returned, to the thoughts and words of long ago that few outside him had the key to unlock the meaning of. It was, as it had always been, one of the precious few constants of his life.

It could also be fascinating, as the rubbings spread out before him were. SG-1 had been on its cultural and technological exchange mission to Orban when SG-6 had come across an ancient village on P3R-255, long-abandoned and crumbling. It had been sheer good fortune to find the carvings in one of the few buildings that were still more-or-less standing, etched into the floor. Quite irremovable, but Dennison, SG-6’s anthropologist, had made rubbings for Daniel to decipher. It was one of the most exciting finds he’d seen in some time, well worth every free minute he’d poured into it since. Even the fascinating treasures of Orban had been set aside for the time being.

As with many of the written languages they’d found on different planets, the root of the one before him was clearly an Earth one, specifically Sanskrit. But time and separation from the root culture had changed the language so much that sometimes the base was only vaguely recognizable, and there was far more deciphering than translating to do. Daniel didn’t mind. It was an incredible opportunity to study the evolution of a language, and exactly the kind of puzzle he liked best.

And he was making good progress when a quiet knock sounded at the door.

Daniel blinked, a little slow at switching tracks from the ancient Dravidian language to a small office under a Colorado mountain. The clock in front of him read 11:22—getting close to lunch—which meant about four hours since he’d had breakfast in the commissary with the team. He’d been oblivious to the flow of life in the SGC around him since then, and happily so. They had no mission that day--who would turn up now, and why?

Of course, no wondering would reveal who was at the door. “Come in,” he called, clearing his throat and repeating himself when his voice croaked mid-word from disuse.

The door opened to reveal Jack, apparently still in the same fatigues Daniel had seen him in at breakfast…and, come to think of it, dinner before that. The wrinkled clothing matched the face of its wearer, brown eyes starting to get pinched with exhaustion. It had been a long mission, and an emotionally grueling one, especially for Jack. But still those tired eyes lit at the sight of the archaeologist. “Hey, Danny boy, whatcha doing?”

“Hey, Jack,” he answered cautiously. A question like that was usually loaded, either a springboard to a request to go “have some fun” Jack-style, or leading to a stern recommendation Daniel get some sleep. “I’m just working on some of the material SG-6 brought back from their last mission. The translation’s been kinda tricky, so—”

“So they asked you to do it. Big surprise.” Jack was fully in the office now, moving casually as he did when he was in no particular hurry.

Both the attitude and the answer took Daniel off-guard. “Uh, yeah. I did some papers on Indian culture and the development of Sanskrit, and…you’re not really interested in this stuff, are you?”

“Not at all,” Jack readily agreed. He dropped down into the chair beside Daniel’s desk.

Which was Daniel’s cue to put his pencil down and turn his full attention to the conversation. “So…what can I do for you?”

Up went Jack’s hands, innocent defensiveness written all over his face. “Nothing! Can’t a guy check on his team members without needing a reason?”

Ah. The patented Jack O’Neill I-want-to-talk-without-looking-like-I-want-to-talk bit. Daniel reached for his pencil again, his concentration not diminishing a bit. “Sure, Jack,” he answered just as nonchalantly, turning to a blank page in his notebook and beginning to work on a very impressive-looking doodle. What mattered was it would look to Jack like he was working.

His visitor idly started to play with the ceramic pyramid paperweight on Daniel’s desk, twisting it around and around on the tabletop. “So…what did you really think of Orban?” It sounded conversational, but Daniel would have bet if he’d looked up he’d have seen an intense glitter in Jack’s eyes.

Daniel didn’t look up. “I think they found an unusual solution to learning that seems to work for them.”

“‘Unusual’? That all? You still don’t have any problem with them draining the brains of those kids?” He could feel Jack tense from three feet away, a harder edge now in his tone.

Daniel did glance up at that, trying to calm with a look. That hadn’t quite come out right. “Of course I have a problem with it. Just because a solution works doesn’t always mean it’s a good one. But it’s all they know, Jack. They didn’t even have a clue something was wrong with it. And you can’t change a culture overnight.”

“We did,” Jack answered quietly.

“ _You_ did. Using their methods.”

His barb was deliberate this time. Usually, he was the one who needed a dose of reality and Jack was the one giving it, but they weren’t friends for nothing. These were the realities of his world, where history repeated itself over and over and there wasn’t a thing you could do about it.

Those eyes, hiding a sharper and more intelligent mind than most people gave Jack credit for, burned dangerously at his words.

“I wasn’t trying to use their methods. I just wanted to get through to Merrin.”

Daniel smiled. “I think you succeeded. All those kids are going to be better off because of what you showed her.”

“Kids deserve to be kids. They have a right not to have their childhood cut short.” Jack rose with an impatient gesture, turning away from the archaeologist to peruse the books on his bookshelves with unusual interest.

Daniel sighed inside. He’d rather been expecting the conversation to end up there ever since he’d realized Jack wanted to talk. He’d always known O’Neill had a soft spot for kids, ever since their first mission and Jack’s adoption of Skaara. That he would be outraged at what happened to Merrin was almost a given. And that he’d see his own son’s aborted life in the Eurons’ stolen childhoods was, unfortunately, too understandable.

Understanding didn’t necessarily mean answers. Not in translation, not in friendship. Sometimes it just led to more questions.

But, as a friend, he would always try. “Jack…I didn’t have much of a childhood, either, but I don’t regret it. It makes you who you are. For me, it led to books and learning—I wouldn’t be here without it.” All right, so his parents’ interest had had something to do with his pursuits, too, but it had been the drive of an orphan, on his own, which had taken him so far. Jack was half-turned toward him, watching him with hooded eyes, and he met the man’s gaze squarely. “Growing up fast isn’t necessarily a bad thing. And Merrin understood what she was doing, more than most kids her age would have been able to. In a way, she was already an adult. You gave her the chance to finally be a kid.”

“Some life,” Jack growled.

“Think of the alternative,” Daniel softly countered.

Jack stared at him for another long minute, then turned heel and walked out of the office. But there was frustration, not anger in his stride, and the door shut gently behind him.

The ghosts were out in full force that day, it seemed. Daniel considered going after the man, but he knew how much good that would do. Maybe he’d given O’Neill something to think about, and Jack would talk again when and if he wanted to. His appearance in Daniel’s office had made that obvious.

Daniel turned back to the rubbing on his desk. His eyes lit on the design he’d been drawing, and he shook his head to find it reminded him of the mosaic in front of the Orban gate. Tearing the page out of the notebook, he balled it up and dropped it in the trash can, then picked up the translation work where he’d left off, most of his concentration back on the work at hand.

But some small part of his mind continued to work on the puzzle that was Jack O’Neill.

 

Many hours later, the glyphs were starting to blur from intense concentration. Daniel reached up to rub his tired eyes. He could see the patterns now in the work, the structure of sentence equivalents and the layout of the writing. Actual translation still eluded him, but it would only be a matter of time now. And fresh perspective, and rested eyes. Maybe a little break wouldn’t be a bad idea. He’d probably missed dinner with the others as it was.

Daniel stood and stretched for a moment, gazing once more with satisfaction at the work spread out before him. As much wonder as there was at going off-world, at seeing different cultures in person, at the human connection, this was what gave him the greatest satisfaction of all, the solving of ancient mysteries. A good day’s work here fulfilled like no other. It was with contentment he left his progress behind and wandered out into the base to see what was going on.

The main dinner hour had, indeed, mostly passed, only a few stray personnel lingering now over cups of coffee and plates of pie. Blueberry, it seemed, and Daniel’s stomach rumbled in appreciation. Threading a path past the tables of the eating area, he made his way to the food set out.

The pickings were a little more slim now, but Daniel wasn’t choosy. Being used to the cuisine at various digs and off-world campsites could make a fresh chicken salad sandwich look mighty good, and he grabbed one, followed by a banana, a bag of chips, and a container of orange juice, before heading down to the desserts. Multi-colored Jello, fruit salads, and chocolate pudding were all available, but Daniel had his heart set on pie and picked up one of the few remaining pieces. Definitely blueberry. How had he missed earlier how hungry he was? Shaking his head with a small smile, Daniel turned away from the food to glance around the room, looking for a place to sit. There were plenty, and yet…

Unsure even himself as to why, Daniel once more went through the maze of tables and out the commissary door, turning almost without thought toward Jack’s office.

Empty. Which shouldn’t have been a great surprise. Jack spent as little time as possible in the little room assigned him, and it showed. Whereas his personal quarters on base were decorated with fishing mementos and hand-drawn pictures from Cassie, the office was sterile and nearly empty. The message was clear: he would do his paperwork but he didn’t have to like it. Smile widening, Daniel went on to his team leader’s room.

Which was also empty, and that was a little more surprising. The door was unlocked, as it usually was; one thing he and Jack seemed to have in common was a lack of care for personal possessions. Being on the move all the time, and having lost what mattered most to you, did that to a person. Daniel took a glance around the room, softening again at all the childish paintings and drawings that dotted the walls. Jack was clearly as crazy about Cassie as she was about Jack. Little wonder he’d gotten so attached to Merrin.

The newest addition caught his eye as Daniel turned to leave the room, posted in a place of honor just above the bureau where Cassie’s picture of her dog had been before. Daniel stepped closer to examine it. A stick figure almost filled the page, its hair a mixture of grey and black, a few flowers on the ground at its feet. The style was less developed than Cassie, nor was it signed with her name as most of her opuses were. This one had no name on it at all that Daniel could see, but he knew without question that it was Merrin’s work. Post-ovarium—it looked like the work of a six-year-old, not someone twice that age—and yet her spark was there. Did it bring comfort, pain, or serve as a reminder Jack didn’t want to forget? Maybe even all three.

Thoughtful, Daniel closed the room door behind him as he balanced his tray in his other hand, and went in further search of his friend.

There was a chance Jack was in the general’s office or on some business in another part of the SGC, or even that he’d gone home for the evening. But Hammond was still not happy with Jack, undecided if he would pursue the matter of discipline for Jack’s having kidnapped Merrin, and so either O’Neill leaving or being asked by Hammond to do something that day seemed unlikely. Which didn’t leave too many options. If Jack wasn’t in his room, Daniel figured there were only two other places the man was likely to be. The work-out room just didn’t seem right somehow, so the rec room it was.

The common recreational room was the base’s version of a living room, where the base personnel came to relax when they were off-duty. An intense poker game played out in one corner, SG-5’s weekly game, and along the wall on Daniel’s left, two technicians were engrossed in a game of chess. The rec room was usually where you went when you wanted to relax with friends instead of in the solitude of your room.

But there sat Jack O’Neill on the middle of the sofa, arms crossed, grimly watching TV alone, his posture almost daring anyone to disturb or join him.

Gentle amusement and more than a little comprehension filtered through Daniel’s thoughts, and without hesitation, he crossed the room to the sofa. He knew just how to deal with a moody Jack O’Neill.

The older man barely looked up at him as Daniel edged onto the sofa, his grimly set mouth only tightening a fraction. No wonder no one else had ventured to watch with him, but Daniel was impervious to Jack’s occasional prickliness. He calmly set his tray down on the scarred coffee table in front of the couch, wordlessly nudging Jack to slide over a little and give him more room. Jack did, his every movement broadcasting annoyance. Unfazed, Daniel picked his sandwich up and began to unwrap it.

“Something wrong with the commissary?” Jack finally asked, tone tart.

“No, just felt like some company. You mind?” Daniel said with complete innocence.

“Just keep it down—I’m trying to watch this.”

Daniel complied, chewing quietly as he tried to figure out what Jack was watching. John Wayne he recognized at once, Jack’s equivalent of comfort viewing. Daniel leaned back, taking another bite. The lady was pretty but he had no idea who she was; he was no movie expert, especially not of John Wayne movies, far more Jack’s purview.

Jack absently reached over to Daniel’s tray, snagging the banana and beginning to peel it. Daniel swallowed a smile along with his bite of sandwich, and took that as a cue to be permitted a question.

“What’s going on?”

The answer wasn’t as reluctant as he’d have thought. “John Wayne’s this gunman who was nursed back to health by this Quaker family. Gail Russell’s the daughter, and they fall in love, but Bruce Cabot’s out to get Wayne even if he’s given up his old life.” Jack’s eyes never left the screen, his explanation offered between bites of the banana.

“Ah.” It only made things a little clearer, but he was part anthropologist and quite comfortable with sizing up a situation and then going with the flow. Daniel continued to chew and watch.

The banana gone, Jack dropped the peel onto the tray and went for the chips next. Daniel mentally shook his head as he alternated between finishing his sandwich and watching the movie. Gail Russell—he wasn’t sure if that was the actress or the character—and Wayne were riding in a wagon, and he thought with a pang how much her loose, dark hair reminded him of Sha’re. The next moment, even his sandwich was briefly forgotten as riders started to chase the wagon.

“Why’re they after them?”

“They’re the bad guys, Daniel—it’s what they do. You want this?” Jack interrupted his concentration, and Daniel was dimly aware of the orange juice being waved under his nose. He automatically shook his head, tensing as the wagon went over a ledge, its two riders jumping down a waterfall to escape.

The girl was injured but they survived, and the old sheriff stepped in to save Wayne before he was killed by the bad guys he didn’t want to shoot. It seemed to be the only way he would keep the girl. Daniel could relate to changing your philosophy for love, even though he’d taken up a gun for Sha’re’s sake, not put one down. Both he and Jack had made some hard choices those last few years.

The credits began to roll, and abruptly, Daniel realized he’d finished his sandwich. Glancing down at his tray revealed it to be bare of anything but empty containers and wrappers. Jack was just eating the last few bites of the pie. Daniel sighed silently the sigh of the long-suffering.

“Did you have dinner?” he asked pointedly.

“Wasn’t hungry,” came the reply, without a trace of irony as Jack scraped the plate clean and dumped it back on the tray.

“I’m glad to see your appetite’s back.” Daniel’s sarcasm gave way before renewed concern: no dinner and a John Wayne movie? Things must have been weighing heavily on Jack’s mind. With deliberate casualness, he nodded at the TV screen. “You have any others?”

“Wayne movies?” Jack’s eyebrows went up, really looking at him for the first time. “Since when do you like John Wayne?”

“Since you’re watching it. Put something else in.”

Jack blinked, then obeyed, stretching forward to shift through a pile of tapes on the shelf under the TV. No doubt from his own collection. “War movie, westerns? Comedy? Romance?”

Daniel didn’t think he could make it through another romance, and he’d had enough war to last him the rest of his life. A John Wayne comedy? Sounded like an oxymoron. But an archaeologist was supposed to seek new experiences, and Daniel could count on one hand the number of Old West movies he’d seen. “Western,” he chose.

Jack grabbed one of the tapes, made the exchange, and sat back with unconcealed enthusiasm. “You’re gonna love this one—it’s one of the classics: _She Wore a Yellow Ribbon_.”

 _She_ —great. Daniel surrendered gracefully, giving his empty tray one last wistful glance before making himself comfortable on the couch. The opening credits began to play.

A sideways glance at Jack caught less-strained features, a spark of real enjoyment in the brown eyes. “I saw the picture on your wall that Merrin made,” Daniel ventured.

The eyes flickered. “Spittin’ image,” Jack said quietly. Proudly.

“Well, if you lost a little weight.” Daniel paused, voice growing gentler. “Have you ever put up anything of Charlie’s?”

There was no explosion, nothing but a tightening of Jack’s jaw and a change of focus in his eyes. They weren’t seeing the TV anymore. “No,” he said shortly.

Daniel eased off, watching the start of the movie with only partial attention. Finally, as Jack began to relax again, his shoulder almost slouching against Daniel’s, he offered one last comment. “You know, we’ve got one more day off tomorrow. I bet General Hammond wouldn’t mind if you left for a while if you wanted to, you know, go do something or see someone…”

At first there was no response, then a very slight nod. And then Jack glanced at him. “You gonna shut up now and watch the movie?”

The question was light, the corner of his mouth turned up, but his expression was soft, almost touched. It was, Daniel abruptly realized, Jack’s way of saying he appreciated Daniel being there. He gave a slight grin in return and then pointedly turned back to the TV. “Absolutely.”

The movie ended up not being half-bad, but the company far better. Daniel healed best in his work, and more than once Jack had shown up with a book to read beside him while Daniel toiled away, or with food to share a meal in the privacy of the archaeologist’s office. If this was how Jack healed, Daniel could stand one night of television. He understood, and accepted. It wasn’t, in fact, all that different from what translation was about.

Heck, it was even worth the loss of a slice of blueberry pie.

 

Okay, so the top line seemed to be a title, like that of a book or a monograph. And as far as Daniel could tell, it had something to do with food—dates, maybe. A description of a ceremony, offering food to one of the gods, perhaps? Or a description of some kind of agricultural method? He went on to the next line for the hundredth time, suppressing a yawn as he did.

No, he was not getting so old that a late night would leave him tired and cranky in the morning. Yes, he’d stayed up until nearly four the night before, watching John Wayne movies with Jack, perhaps not the most stimulating of activities. And yeah, okay, so sitting there with a 160-some pound colonel dozing on his shoulder had probably done his back no favors. But the Jack he’d walked to his room that night and pointed in the direction of his bed—purely so the guy wouldn’t break his nose walking into a wall, half-asleep—was different from the one Daniel had come across in the rec room the evening before. This one smiled when he said good-night, cuffing Daniel lightly on the arm, not seeming quite as haunted as he had hours before. John Wayne was more of a miracle-worker than Daniel would have believed, he thought wryly.

But it still left him a little sleepy the next morning, and trying to get rid of the catchy music from one of the movies that was still running through his head. Daniel yawned again, rubbed his eyes, and went back to the elusive title.

A knock sounded at the door and his movement stuttered, his arm slipping and his chin nearly knocking into the desk. Chagrined, Daniel straightened, giving the rubbing a disdainful glance as he called, “Come in.”

He half-expected Jack at the door, even if the colonel was bound to be at least as tired as he, and with the extra option of sleeping in. But it was Sam who stepped inside, smiling at the sight of him.

“Hey, Daniel, how’s the translation coming?”

Sam was always a welcome interruption and he dropped his magnifying glass on the table. “Good morning—where were you last night?”

“Well, I couldn’t find anybody at dinnertime except for Teal’c, and we went out for ice cream after. You know this kick he’s on,” she grinned. Teal’c had recently discovered ice cream and seemed to think it the food of the gods or something.

Daniel shook his head in amusement. “Yeah, probably took up the rest of the evening, huh?”

“Just about.” She stepped closer, looking at the papers spread on his desk with genuine interest. Of all his teammates, Sam was the one he most shared his love of learning with, even if their fields were vastly different. “Are these the Orban records?”

He turned back to his work. “Uh, no, they’re some rubbings SG-6 brought back from P3R-255—pretty amazing, actually. They look like a variation on our Sanskrit.”

“Do you know what it says yet?”

“Well…not exactly. I mean, there’s something about food…I think, but that’s about it. I’m still working on it.”

“Great.” She nodded enthusiastically, but he could already tell her attention had moved on to a new topic. Daniel peered at her expectantly. “By the way, have you seen the colonel anywhere today?”

Oh. Daniel screwed up his face. “Define ‘today’?”

She blinked. “Since you’ve been up?”

“No,” he shook his head. “You can’t find him?”

“Not exactly.” She took a seat, the same one Jack had sat in the day before. Come to think of it, it was the only chair in the room that wasn’t liberally covered with papers and books. “Main gate says he left the base early this morning, around seven. No one seems to know where he would’ve gone.”

“Home, maybe?” Daniel offered.

“I tried there.” Sam paused, cast her eyes down. “I thought maybe with what happened with Merrin, he wanted to get out of here, maybe do some thinking. He hasn’t really been himself since we got back from Orban.”

Daniel nodded, thoughtful, surprisingly unworried. Maybe Jack had caught the hint he’d dropped the night before? “I think I know where he went. He’s gonna be fine, Sam. He just needed to go see someone.”

Her expression asked a question, but it wasn’t one Daniel was prepared to answer. If the colonel had decided to go see his son, that was really no one’s business, not even his friends’.

It did mean, however, he was healing. Daniel smiled at Sam. “I’m sure he’ll be back in plenty of time for the mission tomorrow. If General Hammond lets us…”

She grinned back. “I think General Hammond has a granddaughter around Merrin’s age. I don’t think he can throw the book at Jack for trying to help her when he’d probably have done the same thing if he could have.”

Daniel nodded. He’d expected as much. “She’s about two years older than Charlie would be today, and had an even shorter childhood,” he added quietly.

Her face darkened. “I know, I thought about that, too. That’s probably why he’s always drawn to kids.”

“That, and the fact that he’s about at their maturity level,” Daniel said dryly.

Her grin was wide enough to show teeth before she grew sober again. “So you think he’s fine.”

“Yeah, I do.” Daniel leaned back in his chair. He hadn’t thought of it in so many words, but it was true. Merrin was another loss, if not quite as awful, and Jack needed time to grieve and deal with it, and he was. In the Jack O’Neill way, which included movies and purloined pie and a visit to Charlie, maybe, but he was. It was just their job as his friends to make it easy on him and be as understanding as possible.

Which was exactly what he read in Sam’s face as she stood. She wouldn’t ask, him or Jack, just accepted and would be there as needed. It was one of the parts of teamwork Daniel had never been told to expect. The best one, in his opinion.

Sam took a deep breath, also looking more relaxed than when she’d arrived.

“Thanks, Daniel,” she said earnestly, then, “Good luck with the translation,” before she slipped back out the door, easing it shut behind her. She meant thanks for setting her mind at ease, and for the insight into Jack, but he already knew that was why she’d come.

If only the Sanskrit hodge-podge were as easy to decipher as his friends…

 

Daniel was still doing a mental inventory as he walked into the gateroom. Gone were the days when a simple brush, notebook, and pen sufficed; now he had to worry about MREs and the proper BDUs and about a dozen other acronyms. Sometimes he had a crazy desire to say a whole sentence without some abbreviation in it.

Sam looked as spotless and Teal’c as ready as ever, already standing in front of the gate, waiting. Which left…

“Daniel! Missing something?”

The teasing voice drew his attention instantly to his right, where Jack O’Neill had lurked out of sight by the wall. His stance was easy, his eyes bright and dancing with amusement that was no doubt at his team archaeologist’s expense. The demons of the previous days seem banished once more, just as Daniel had hoped, and he nearly broke out in a delighted grin before realizing he’d just been asked a question. He looked himself over, his jacket, the gun hanging from his shoulder where he could almost forget it, the pack resting heavy on his back. “Uh, no, I don’t think—”

Jack’s mouth was twitching as he held up a pair of regulation boots.

Daniel was already blushing as he glanced down to check his own feet. Sneakers. Wonderful. “They’d be good for running?” he said, canting his eyebrows hopefully.

“Which you never do, anyway, always too busy looking at rocks.” Jack shook his head mournfully. “You’ll never be a soldier at this rate, Jackson.”

“Thank God,” he said under his breath as he grabbed the shoes from Jack and hopped on one foot while pulling off his sneakers. Maybe Hammond would let him stash them in some corner of the gateroom until he came back…?

“What was that?” Jack leaned closer to hear him better, clearly enjoying the whole situation.

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything,” Daniel quickly answered. Jack’s nearness was too tempting, and Daniel grabbed his arm for balance as he got the other sneaker off, then jammed one of the boots onto his foot.

“SG-1, are you ready to go?” Hammond’s voice came from the speaker above. Jack twisted around to answer it, not enough to dislodge Daniel’s grip.

“Almost, sir, Daniel just seems to have a little shoe problem here.”

“Well, as soon as you get it straightened out, you have a go.” The gate was already dialing up, and Hammond sounded like he was hiding a smile, too. Daniel’s embarrassment grew another degree, but at least the general didn’t seem like he was mad at Jack about Orban anymore. More good news.

The second boot on, Daniel needed both hands free to tie it. Without a word, Jack sidled up a step closer so Daniel could lean against him.

Sam had also moved closer, reaching out a hand to steady him but mercifully trying to distract him from the whole situation. “So, did you get those rubbings translated?” she asked cheerfully.

He nearly groaned. Unfortunately, he had, staying up late into the night until he did so, then staring in disbelief at what he’d rendered into English. “Uh, yeah. I’m almost done here, guys.”

The distraction didn’t work. Sam leaned down to meet his eyes, a brilliant congratulatory smile on her face. “That’s terrific! What was it about?”

He murmured a response, as unintelligible as he could make it.

“What was that?” Jack was the one who ducked down now to catch what he’d said.

This was clearly not his day. Daniel gritted his teeth. “It was a recipe,” he mumbled. One shoe tied, he intently switched to the other foot, his two teammates compensating their hold.

“A recipe?” Sam repeated in disbelief.

“A recipe for what, Daniel Jackson?” Teal’c asked behind him.

“Date bread, okay?” he shot back, giving them all a defiant glare. “It was a baking recipe.”

Momentary stunned silence, then Jack began to laugh. Hard. The tremors of his body shook Daniel, too, and he clenched his jaw tighter as he struggled to tie that last shoe and get the heck out of there and on their mission and a whole new topic.

Sam had also started to chuckle, and Daniel rolled his eyes. A don’t-you-dare glance at the Jaffa revealed Teal’c was as impassive as ever, but his eyes were shining, a sign of at least as much amusement as his other two loyal friends were showing.

“A recipe?” Jack was wiping at streaming eyes. “You spent a few days translating some housewife’s notes?”

Finally, the shoe was tied, and Daniel stood with stiff dignity. “It was etched into a stone floor, Jack—it looked important. And it might have been some kind of ceremonial food, or-or a staple of their diet, a way they kept from starving. It must have had some great significance.” Okay, he was pushing it and he knew it, but, hey, he was just the translator, right? He hadn’t been the one to write it.

“Yeah, for Julia Child.”

“SG-1?” Hammond’s questioning voice. Probably wondering why half his team was having a fit.

“Ready, sir.” Jack waved weakly toward the observation window, then turned to give Daniel a grin that was suddenly more warmth than teasing, cupping the back of his head momentarily. “Space monkey,” he muttered affectionately. And then, only in Daniel’s line of sight, quickly winked.

Expressing gratitude, Daniel abruptly realized, and reassurance he was okay. He shook his head with a grin as Jack let go—message received—and as they turned to go through the gate, Sam’s glance at him said she’d caught the change in Jack, too, and was just as glad as Daniel. The sneakers tucked into his pack—they _were_ useful for running, after all—and feeling awfully content for someone who’d just had his work ridiculed, Daniel followed his friends up the ramp to their next mission.

Yeah, he loved being a translator, recipes aside. But knowing someone well enough to understand _them_ …he’d never even had the chance before, let alone wanted to make the effort. And it was a lot harder, but the end result never disappointed. Not if you had the right material, Daniel thought with fond exasperation as he caught Jack’s lingering grin. He didn’t think he could have asked for better.

And then they were off on the next adventure.

The End


End file.
